In a different room, Dante sat in front of an old monitor. The footage it displayed was something only found in the darkest corners of the internet, showing things that tore from one's sanity, leaving behind scars that will never heal.
From time to time, he would find himself glad that there was no sound to accompany the spectacle. It would have grown too annoying otherwise, and he would have tuned out before long. After all, even if he was desensitized to all kinds of cruelty, he was still a man himself. Though he knew the pudgy gangster deserved every bit of the pain and humiliation he was being put through, it was impossible not to feel a little bad for him.
Fortunately, the disturbing scenes soon came to an end, and at the same time, the chatbox in the corner of his vision moved, and the texts that arrived were no longer just begging. They still felt incoherent. Some were names, others were times and dates. There were a few addresses as well, and some told entire stories.
